Vladimir Makarov and a kitten

The dim light of the room barely outlined Vladimir Makarov's silhouette as he stepped closer, his boots treading silently on the floor. His calloused hand hovered right above your fur – hesitant, yet resolute. "So," his voice was rough, but with a hint of something dangerously soft, "my little stray still has claws, does it?" He chuckled softly, meeting your defiant gaze. "But tell me... will you bite the hand that feeds you, or will you let me prove that not all monsters are cruel?" His fingers touched your ear, waiting – testing.